


Courage

by rustingroses



Category: Young Wizards - Diane Duane
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 03:27:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2797868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rustingroses/pseuds/rustingroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After breaking the news to the Young Seniors, Tom and Carl reassure each other.</p><p>Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear. ~Ambrose Redmoon</p>
            </blockquote>





	Courage

They get home late that night from their meetings with those who will be serving as the “young Seniors“. They get home late from telling wizards who are sons and daughters and sisters and brothers, who are too damn young for the job, that the end of the universe is literally on their shoulders. They get home late and wish that this wasn’t the case, but they’ve got no choice now. The children are literally the future, in a sense that makes Tom ill to consider for anything longer than a few seconds. For Carl, it is the expressions and thoughts that Nita and Kit and the others are still too young to restrain from people as highly attuned to thoughts as Seniors have to be that causes the knots in his stomach as the word “freaked” rolls around in his head.

They can’t stop imagining the faces of too many shell-shocked and terrified kids- and there was no mistake, they were still kids- who don’t know why they’ve been chosen for this terrifying task, and they keep looking to the people they consider to be the “real Seniors” for the answers, but Tom and Carl don‘t have any to give. There is the sensation of things spinning wildly out of control, and it‘s a feeling they both hate. So that evening, as they unlock the front door, Carl’s face is haggard with stress, while the lines on Tom’s face look as though they’ve been carved into his skin, because damn it all if it doesn’t make them feel guilty.

Tom tosses the keys to the car in the bowl by the door, which holds an assortment of keys, key chains and various other miscellaneous items that don‘t have another home. They are quiet as they go around the house, feeding Monty and Annie, making sure the koi are comfortable in their pond, tidying up the dishes that were left over from breakfast. The chores are done silently, and even Monty and Annie seem to pick up on the tension filling the two wizards, tension and worry and sadness that’s as thick and palpable as molasses. 

They try to lose themselves for a few moments in their everyday chores, trying to set aside the myriad of emotions that have resulted from the day. They aren’t ready to face them, not yet, not while the knowledge that they will be losing their wizardry is still so raw, not when they are so worried about their young charges, not when they don’t know how things will turn out, not when they don’t know how to deal with a million other details that just can’t be ignored.

Not when they are nearly swamped by fear.

It crawls underneath their skin, a constant, sickening presence. From the glances they steal of each other, each knows how deeply the situation is affecting the other, but neither has the words to give voice to their concerns, not yet.

Not until Carl sighs abruptly, a low, long noise that sounds like it has come from the bottom of his feet; it breaks the weight in the air. He pads over to where Tom is finishing up the last of the dishes and wraps his arms around his friend and partner, arms locking around Tom‘s stomach. Tom leans back into his warmth, needing to feel Carl’s heart beat even as he finishes drying the last mug and sets it aside. Almost against his wishes, he half-smiles, turning around in Carl’s arms so that the pair are chest to chest. Unable to help himself, Tom lowers his head, resting it in the curve where Carl’s neck met shoulder, eyes slipping closed and breath warming the shirt beneath his mouth. Carl raises a hand, letting it rest on Tom’s back, a comforting and familiar weight. After another moment, Carl’s other hand comes up too, cradling the side of Tom’s face, with his thumb rubbing gentle circles on his cheek.

They stand like that for a long pair of minutes, too exhausted mentally to even consider moving. They need to be like this, just for a moment, to take time for themselves to be just plain old Tom and Carl. They need time to set aside their stress over the fact that the universe could literally end within two week’s time. They desperately need a moment of peace, a moment that does not center on what they both view, to an extent, as a personal failure: their inability to stop the Pulullus. Because of it, they had been forced to put the end of the universe on the shoulders of children as dear to them as if they were their own flesh and blood. So they stand there and draw in hope from the warmth and presence of the other, taking it in and praying it will certain dull the edge of desperation and dread for the future.

Carl moves first, but Tom’s hand comes up to grasp Carl’s shirt, scrunching the material in his hand; Carl stills, then enfolds Tom into an enormously and wondrously tight hug. To Tom, it’s just perfect, and he clings to Carl slightly, bringing the arm that isn’t clutching Carl’s shirt around to clasp the other man’s waist, desiring as much contact as possible. The hug doesn’t ease up, even after some moments, and Tom is grateful. He can’t bear to imagine that there will be a time in a matter of hours, by now, where he will touch Carl and not feel the hum of wizardry on his skin, where he won’t know the intimacy of being in his partner’s, his friend’s, his love’s body, mind, and soul in ways that can only be experienced through wizardry.

By some unspoken command, they start murmuring reassurances to each other in the Speech, words so quiet that they are barely in the range of hearing. They hold onto the knowledge that something said in the Speech is true, and pray it will remain so even if the speaker loses his wizardry. They need no ardent promises of affection or showy displays of love. Their statements are simple, things like “I love you,” and “I will not leave you” because truths such as those need no embellishment. Then, slowly, they return to silence, because they have said all they can for now. This time, when Carl moves, Tom moves too. Though they detangle themselves from one another, Carl laces his hand with Tom‘s just before they part completely, unwilling to lose that heat just yet. Neither shows an inclination to move from their spot in the kitchen for still more time until Tom speaks suddenly into the silence between them.

“Tea?” Tom asks quietly. They are too jittery for coffee.

“I don’t want to dirty the clean dishes,” Carl protests, somewhat half-heartedly. He knows that Tom enjoys the occasional cup of tea in the evenings, but he also know that Tom won’t make any unless he is making it both of them. Tom likes to insist (against all reason, Carl thinks) that while coffee might be meant for a single person to drink alone in the rush and hurry of New York City, tea is always meant to be enjoyed in pairs, when there was time to enjoy it.

Sure enough, Tom says, “It’s not a big deal. I’ll just deal with them in the morning.”

Carl lets out a little huff of laughter that stirs Tom’s dark hair, reveling in the matter-of-fact tone he is so used to hearing from Tom. It gives the entire ordeal a sense of normalcy, however small. “Yeah, sure,” Carl agrees. Tom nods shortly, then refuses to let go of Carl’s fingers throughout the entire process, and thus Carl finds himself joining Tom in filling the kettle with water, setting it on the stove to boil, removing two of the newly cleaned mugs from the dish rack, taking out the milk (for Carl) and honey (for Tom), and finally removing from the cupboard the only type of tea that Carl would consent to drink, as tea is rarely his drink of choice.

Carl raises his eyes at that. Though Tom drinks all manner of teas, as evidenced by the rather haphazard collection in the cupboard, he usually disdains the black peach tea that Carl favors, since Tom isn’t an enormous fan of peaches. When Carl makes an inquiring sound, however, Tom simply shrugs and holds his hand a little tighter. “I was just feeling like having some peach tea,” he whispers, and in the half-light of the kitchen, he looks very, very worn.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Carl promises, reading between the lines of all Tom isn’t saying, before pressing a soft kiss to the side of Tom’s cheek. The other man’s jaw works for a few moments under the gentle caress, but Tom doesn’t answer, instead preparing both cups with tense movements. 

By mutual, silent communication, they take the prepared tea upstairs with them, sipping at the warm liquid as they make sure the dogs are set for the night, get into their pajamas and get into bed. The entire process is slowed by long, warm touches that remind each other that they haven’t lost everything, not yet. It isn’t much later that they have made it into bed, still cradling their tea. The room is lit by a bedside lamp only, which throws black shadows over the large, comfortable bed with the well-worn and well loved blue comforter. They sit in the bed, pressed from shoulder to hip to ankle, musing over the dregs of their tea. When his tea is done, Tom sets it on the bedside table and begins tracing random patters on Carl’s calf, choosing to stay silent for now.

Once Carl has joined him in setting aside his tea, however, Tom voices the fear that lies between them, eating away at their courage moment by moment. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispers, and his voice is thick and choked, though he manages to force the words out past the lump in his throat.

Carl raises an arm, pulling Tom into an embrace. It is an awkward position that forces Tom to wriggle down and lean towards the other man a little in order for Carl to comfortably put an arm around him. Despite the uncomfortable half-sitting, half-laying down position, to them it doesn’t matter in the least: the exchange is warm and real. “I don’t want to lose you either,” Carl says, calm and sensible.

He is about to continue, but Tom interrupts him. “It’s going to be bad enough that wizardry will become a dream-of-a-dream memory that seems ridiculous. I can’t lose you on top of that. I’m worried that because we’ll lose wizardry and a true understanding of the joyous parts of life, we’ll say things we don’t mean, we’ll get into arguments, we’ll forget that we have to do simple things like spend time just being together! I can’t lose both wizardry and you!” Tom is trembling now- or is it Carl himself who is shaking?- but the native New Yorker finds himself emphatically denying Tom’s words with every fiber of his being.

“I think,” Carl says slowly, knowing that there is a tenuous connection between them in this moment that needed to be strengthened, “that we need to trust ourselves a little.”

Tom shifts against Carl. “What do you mean?”

Carl’s laugh is a low rumble in his chest that vibrates pleasantly through Tom’s bones. He continues to speak carefully, however, choosing his words precisely so as to convince both himself and his partner that what he is saying will hold true in the coming days. This exchange is important, particularly for Tom, who of the pair has always placed more of an emphasis on words. It’s one of the reasons Tom handles more of the direct interaction with the younger wizards; he has a gift for making it seem like everything will be okay simply by talking with people. Not that he gives them empty hope. Instead, it is more that Tom knows how to use language to his advantage in order to express exactly what needs to be said. It is Carl who tends to rely on action. He’s always felt awkward, not quite sure how to explain things in lucid language, unsure how to express his feelings verbally. He’s never been one to come right out and say “I love you”, instead showing it through gestures, as much with Nita or Kit as with Tom, though in different senses. He prefers to rely on action; taking the time to speak now, despite his natural reticence, will reassure Tom more than the actual words.

“Well, I’d like to believe that wizardry isn’t the only reason we’re together. We’ve built a life on some spectacular moments, to be sure; seeing things like the Earth rise from the moon, the ceilings of The Crossings, the ganro monoliths from our vacation on Tey’la, and we’ve met a number of people through wizardry who have become family. However, we’ve also built our life on grilling steaks during the summer, enjoying a cup of coffee with Harry, playing ball with Annie and Monty.” Carl smiles then, and though Tom can’t see it, he can feel it, the fierce joy- but also fear, still, though it is a little quieter- blazing in Tom‘s mind. “I’d also like to believe I learned how to do some things all on my own, without wizardry- and I can only assume those are skills that won’t leave me. Like this.”

Carl leans down until his lips are a hair’s breadth from Tom’s. There he pauses, asking for a silent permission that has nothing to do with speaking mind to mind. In response, Tom surges forward, completing the kiss. Carl’s lips are cracked slightly from the weather, and his moustache scratches against Tom’s skin pleasantly, a familiar touch. Tom relaxes, swept up in Carl’s absolute conviction; now Carl murmurs into his mind, I love you. Trust me that what we have without wizardry will be enough until we get it back. Trust Nita and Kit, and the others too; trust them to find a solution. And if all else fails, trust in Timeheart. Carl’s mind opens wider then, and Tom doesn’t need verbal- or nonverbal, as the case is- comfort now, because Carl‘s love is rushing out to meet him, swamping his senses until there is nothing in the world but Carl, Carl, Carl.

Tom smiles into the kiss, and then there is really only one response he can give to Carl, one response that will reassure Carl the way the older man’s words have reassured him; and that is to open his mind as well, taking in the starry night that is Carl’s mind- or so Tom has always thought of it- into his own, exposing his own deep-seated and steadfast love. He cocoons the older man with his love even as he kisses him again and again, feeling his lover’s muscles shifting.

Carl clutches at his partner, pressing closer, as if his body wants to climb inside Tom the way his mind has. Tom lets him press forward, knowing that this, this physical response, this physical reassurance is the best way to make sure that Carl’s fear lessens. It is time for Tom to act in response to Carl’s words, time to reassure him in a language that Carl can understand and believe. They kiss again and again, tasting honey and milk and peaches- and perhaps, Tom dazedly thinks, peaches aren’t that bad after all- but most of all, they taste each other. They are wrapped close, chest, belly and thighs crushed together, and have no interest in parting.

Their kisses slow eventually, but only because other touches are taking their place. Carl’s hand slips under Tom’s shirt, brushing up and down his ribs, smiling slightly when the motion causes Tom to shudder a little. In joking revenge, Tom shifts and sucks hard at the soft skin just under Carl’s ear. It never fails to make him jerk, and this time is no exception. Tom smiles when Carl turns his head to give better access, the hand that had previously been rubbing against Tom’s ribs now gripping his hip. When a hickey has been successfully sucked to life on Carl’s neck, Tom runs his tongue over it, long strokes that have Carl hissing slightly in appreciation. Carl catches Tom’s head then, and brings their mouths back together in deep, slow kisses that involve tongue and teeth and moments stolen to gasp for air. 

Tom breaks for air once, and instead of joining their lips again, Carl begins kissing his way down Tom’s neck, sucking on the pulse that flutters under his mouth until his teeth scrape over Tom’s collarbone, forcing the other man to gasp, a hint of a whine seeping through at the end. Carl smirks against Tom’s collarbone; they have been together in at least some capacity for twenty years, and it is times like these that it shows. Carl scrapes his teeth against Tom’s collarbone a second time before running his tongue over the small red marks, not unlike Tom did with the mark on Carl’s neck. This elicits a second noise, almost purely a whine.

“Off,” Carl grunts, pushing up Tom’s shirt. Tom scrambles to help him, pulling the loose cotton shirt over his head.

“You too,” Tom manages to gasp as Carl scraps his teeth a third time against his collarbone. Carl’s shirt is also removed in short order, and they groan in unison at the feeling of skin against skin, slipping and sticking alternatively due to sweat. Carl is running his hands up and down Tom’s sides while the dark haired wizard scoots down, throwing a leg over Carl’s hips and leaning down, pressing light kisses to any area of Carl’s chest that he can reach. He never quite touches Carl’s nipples, however, though he gets tantalizingly close, teasing the man beneath him. Finally, Carl arches, unable to restrain himself, and Tom feels more than hears the man’s pleading moan. Tom chuckles lowly, darkly, a sound Carl never hears unless they are being intimate, and both Tom and Carl feel the answering heat and pressure in Carl’s groin. Tom treats the man below him to a brief half smile before pressing their groins together.

Carl arches again, and his moan is louder, slightly higher, and his eyelids flutter a little. Having gained his victory, Tom focuses on Carl’s nipples, applying sucking pressure and laves of the tongue to one while the other is tweaked and rubbed, before switching. Carl takes several long moments to simply enjoy the sensations washing over him, shifting his hips a little so there is more pressure on his arousal, a stuttering sigh escaping his lips when Tom obliges him by settling himself closer.

Carl tries to flip them then, wanting to see Tom shuddering beneath him, those brilliant blue eyes disappearing due to pleasure from Carl’s hands, Carl’s mouth, but Tom resists, and sucks on Carl’s earlobe before whispering in his ear, hot breath on damp skin making Carl’s breath come faster, “Not tonight. Not tonight- let me do this for you tonight.” Carl has no objection to the pleasure, really, but Tom told him once that he enjoys few things more than coming undone due solely to Carl‘s ministrations, loving the feeling of being at the center of that clear gray gaze. And he knows that Tom‘s not over his fear, not really, and might not ever be, just like he won’t ever, but they can calm the terror, soothe it, and then he has to stop his thoughts, because Tom is still talking, tongue flicking against Carl‘s ear and it‘s unbelievably distracting. “Not tonight, because you gave me your words, and I will need them more than you can imagine in the coming days. So let me give you this.”

The word ‘this’ is punctuated by Tom rocking against Carl, pushing their erections together through their sweatpants as he finds that spot on Carl’s neck again. Momentarily left gaping by the sensations, Carl can’t force his vocal chords to work, and inhales soundlessly, arching hard into the pleasurable touches. “Yes,” Carl hisses, and this time he bucks deliberately up against Tom, dragging their cloth-covered erections against each other. It is Tom’s turn to react, and he makes a little moaning sound deep in the back of his throat.

“Off,” Carl groans again, tugging on Tom’s pants only for a few seconds before half sitting up, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the skin on Tom’s abdomen. The abs ripple slightly in appreciation of the attention, and Tom sways a little at the touch. Grinning, Carl’s tongue darts into Tom’s belly button, swirling around obscenely for a few seconds. Tom goes rigid; his hands grip Carl’s upper arms as though that is his only form of support. Carl’s grin grows wider. It was entirely likely that Tom’s grip is his only form of support, considering that the action usually serves to make the blue-eyed man completely boneless with pleasure. Carl can practically see Tom harden further, pupils blown out so wide that the rings of blue are barely visible in the half-light of the room. Carl does it again, swirling his tongue around slowly and deliberately, and Tom makes a choking sound. Carl continues with his torment, pressing his tongue in and out of the small orifice several times, Tom making breathy, “Ah, ah, ah,” sounds in time with the movements of Carl’s tongue. Tom sways again, trying to steady himself, blinking rapidly.

Before Carl can continue with his ministrations, however, Tom pulls out of range, slithering down Carl’s body. “Cruel,” Tom pants, but Carl can tell he isn’t completely focused, not when every breath Tom releases hitches a little. For a second or two, Tom is forced to recover against Carl’s stomach, kissing the soft skin there as he slowly regains control over his trembling limbs. “Not fair,” he grumbles, and the vibrations of the words so close to his groin go straight to Carl’s penis.

“Very fair,” Carl says in return, his words somewhat strained as Tom slithers down even further, hot breath exceedingly close to his arousal. Carl just barely manages not to buck into that hot mouth, and instead dazedly murmurs, “Pants.”

Tom’s laughter is little more than huffs of air against Carl’s hipbone. Then, summoning the reserves of his strength, for Carl has noticed that Tom’s pupils are still obscenely dilated, and every so often he is arching his back slightly, as if missing the presence of Carl’s tongue, Tom pulls first his own pants off, then Carl’s. At the release of pressure, Carl can’t help but to moan again, low and intense and needy. “Please.” Carl doesn’t know what he’s pleading for, but he hopes that Tom does, because it’s been a long day and he’s already too damn close. He knows that Tom is too, if the shuddering is any indication.

Then Tom starts sucking on the skin of his hipbone, then blowing lightly over the marks and Carl dimly realizes that someone is making a keening noise, and assumes it must be him, but Tom hasn’t even touched his penis yet. So he settles for clenching the bed covers in his hands, because otherwise he will yank on Tom’s hair, and Tom really doesn’t like that. Tom gives the same treatment to his other hipbone, and a thought shoots through Carl’s head, making him wonder if the shuddering he felt earlier was really Tom or if it was him.

Carl’s seriously considering just flipping them and having his way with Tom, because he needs some release to the pressure in his groin, because he feels so wonderful, so loved, and the terror of earlier today is practically gone, and he knows that he’ll have to deal with it later, but at this very moment, later seems like a very practical time. He doesn’t have the opportunity to make up his mind however because Tom’s fingers are grazing lightly against Carl’s perineum, and Carl’s toes are curling with the effort it takes not to orgasm. “Too close,” he gasps, and there is a guttural whine attached to the end of the phrase.

Tom kisses the inside of Carl’s thigh, and then is moving above him, removing the lube from the beside drawer. With Tom’s skin bared above him, Carl can’t help it; one hand reaches up, grabbing his ass, the other running up and down his ribs lightly, his tongue pressing again and again into the divot of Tom’s bellybutton.

Tom’s making the “Ah, ah, ah,” sounds once more, helpless against the onslaught, body tensing. Tom’s positioned awkwardly still, one hand braced near Carl’s armpit, the other clinging to the edge of the bedside table, and he knows he can’t move or else he’ll simply collapse against the stocky form beneath him, too overwhelmed to stay up on his own. “Please,” Tom mutters, and he doesn’t know if he’s asking for Carl to please continue, or please stop distracting him so he can do what he wants to do to Carl’s lovely body. “Too…” Tom has to collect his thoughts, a near impossibility with Carl’s tongue finally moving away from his bellybutton, but towards his erection. “Close!” he manages to exclaim, jerking away slightly and sitting back on his heels.

Carl sits up slightly, looking in awe at Tom. He’s swaying slightly again, and if Carl didn’t know better, he would swear that Tom’s eyes are black. His erection is a bright red and it’s clear Tom can’t help himself when he lowers the hand not holding the lubricant to his arousal, fingertips grazing against the sensitive skin. Carl’s taken in by the sight, mouth dropping open slightly. It’s been a while since they’ve managed to push each other this far. After a second or two, Tom jerks his hand away and breathes for a moment, fighting for control. They have been walking a fine line between foreplay and quick rutting this evening, but they need to have both tonight, need to have that thick, overwhelming desire thundering through their systems even as they mark each other with love. The situation isn’t helped by the fact that they were on edge to begin with, or that they need this so very badly.

Tom continues to breathe, clenching the lube tight in one fist, and Carl half-assumes it’s because he doesn’t want to drive into his partner, his friend, his lover, unprepared. The pop of the lube cap seems enormously loud, even considering the harsh breathing of the room’s two occupants. Tom liberally coats his fingers, but instead of indicating that Carl should spread his legs, he spreads his own, hand twisting down and out of sight. His eyes roll back in his head slightly, chest heaving a little more frantically, and a drop of pre-come slides down Tom’s penis before disappearing into his pubic hair. Carl is abruptly aware of how delicious the sweat on Tom’s skin makes him look, how close he is, but he doesn’t dare so much as twitch. If he does, if he goes down on Tom, things will be over in a matter of seconds. He can’t help imagining it, however, imagining laving Tom’s scrotum and erection, can’t help imagining the high, desperate keening sound that Tom always makes when he’s being sucked off. The picture is so crystal clear in his head, in fact, that Tom jerks, removing his hands and staring at Carl.

His voice manages to be surprisingly dry and steady. “If you could not think about that right now, I’d greatly appreciate it, or I might just take you up on the offer.”

Carl drops the timbre of his voice, enjoying the little tremors it evokes in Tom as he says, “I’d be alright with that.”

Tom is clearly fighting his desire. “No, this is for you,” he tries to say, but he’s eying Carl’s mouth a little too closely, dilated eyes practically riveted to Carl‘s red lips.

“No, we have time to do both,” Carl promises, eyes smoldering. “I’ll deal with a little less sleep if it means I get to give this too you. We need this.” Tom doesn’t deny this, simply closes his eyes as if asking the One for patience and control. Carl doesn’t give him the opportunity. He reaches out, fingers tracing from Tom’s hip, down to his pubic hair before lightly gripping Tom’s testicles, rubbing gently. He sits all the way up, and his other hand is winding around the back of Tom‘s neck as he speaks. “Do you doubt my ability to arouse you a second time?” he teases in a rough approximation of a sultry voice that is more joking than anything else, sucking on the tip of Tom’s ear.

The most coherent part of Tom’s response is “Nngh,” which indicates to Carl that he’s won. So he pushes the unresisting Tom back and lowers his head, immediately licking the soft skin of Tom’s testicles. They tighten a little, and Tom is already starting to keen, the sound that Carl likes so much. Without warning, Carl takes Tom’s arousal in his mouth, immediately sucking hard. Tom arches his back, fingers scrabbling desperately. It doesn’t take more than perhaps a minute of consistent pressure, of Carl’s tongue dancing against Tom’s skin, of the sucking heat before Tom is gone with a cry, coming, and Carl just swallows patiently. He doesn’t normally like the taste, normally he won’t swallow, but tonight, here and now, it’s necessary.

Tom collapses on the bed at the end of his orgasm, chest heaving and limbs shaking badly and eyes completely unfocused. The movement removes Tom’s flaccid cock from Carl’s mouth and Tom is grateful, because he really is extremely sensitive right now. Carl’s mind is still open enough that he knows that it was the most intense orgasm Tom’s had in a while. Carl is careful not to move too much; his mind was open enough to sense the strength of Tom’s pleasure, and it’s put him no more than a stroke or two from coming as well. He loves being a wizard at times like these. Love, sex, joy- all the bright spots in life seem even brighter with wizardry, because even know, with Tom sated, he can feel his counterpart’s love singing through his veins from the prolonged contact.

Tom is just barely coherent again when he pulls Carl down weakly, letting the grey-eyed man plunder his mouth, accepting the aftertaste of his own semen with good humor and brilliant pleasure shining in his eyes. Carl kisses him, his love, again and again, and this time between kisses he whispers praises in the near dark of the room, whispers of Tom’s kindness and intelligence and ability to craft words into something worth knowing. Underlying it all is the constant press of Carl’s love. If the words were a caress Tom would have leaned into it.

When Tom starts arching against Carl several minutes later, the grey-eyed man knows that Tom is becoming aroused again, and takes the time to kiss and nip at his nipples, to press his tongue into the divot of Tom’s bellybutton, to suck the tops of his ears, employing every trick he knows to bring Tom immediate pleasure. It’s another set of long moments before Tom is ready again. It happens quicker than Carl thought it would, but he‘s not about to complain.

Tom then proceeds to spend the next few seconds giggling helplessly, because somewhere along the line he must have dropped the lube, and now Carl can’t find it, but Tom’s really not loose enough to take Carl in without a little synthetic help. So he’s stretched out, aroused and ready and so is Carl and they want to, badly, but they can’t, not yet. Tom’s of no help at all, because while Carl is pushing aside bed covers, attempting to find the bottle, Tom’s unable to stop laughing because it feels so damn good on top of what they’ve been doing to each other, and Tom hadn’t thought it would be possible.

Carl finally finds the bottle, which was still open when it was dropped and has managed to ooze over the bed sheets, and Tom just laughs even harder. “Just scrape it off and use that. We‘ll clean it up tomorrow or something,” he tells Carl, arching again as if that will help him relieve pressure on his erection. “It’s not like there’s anything happening on this bed that we don’t know about.”

Carl thinks about that statement for a moment, and realizes Tom’s right. He kneels once more between Tom’s legs, because the other man was interrupted before he could really stretch himself, so Carl spends another minute or two making sure Tom’s relaxed enough, open enough. He can’t help brushing over Tom’s prostate once or twice, just to keep him on edge, and Tom bats at his arm, breathing, “Get on with it!” with desperate need underlying the typical good humor. Another second is spent rubbing lube over his arousal before sliding, slow and careful, into Tom.

He waits patiently for Tom’s muscles to stop clenching erratically and relax, brow smoothing as he adjusts to the pressure. Carl always waits, always, using every trick he knows to make sure that Tom is completely comfortable before moving so much as an inch. Tom doesn’t go for subtle today, however, just arches his back, using his legs to pull Carl in even tighter, hips moving until Carl grazes Tom’s prostate again, and Tom inhales sharply.

Carl starts to move then, strong, smooth thrusts that make Tom grip Carl’s hips and throw his head back, each breath containing a high whine. They know by now, after long years of practice, how to move, when they’re on the verge of coming, and it’s racing towards them now. Tom has become almost completely silent, shuddering periodically as he opens and closes his mouth, wishing he could say something, anything. Carl, on the other hand, is steadying himself with one hand and using the other to jerk Tom off. Carl knows Tom’s body well enough to bring him off without a touch, but it takes more effort and concentration than Carl has at the moment, for which he thinks he can be forgiven.

“Carl!” Tom cries all at once, and it seems for a moment that every muscle is seizing, clenching as Tom is swept away from the force of his orgasm. Carl takes another quarter of minute, perhaps, but Tom doesn’t mind. He arches up to kiss Carl, long and slow and deep, tongues swirling around each other. When Carl comes he is silent except for a stuttered, “T-t,” that he can never seem to get past.

They breathe in each other’s air for a moment, lips just barely brushing even after Carl pulls out, wrapping himself around Tom instead of lying mostly on top of him. Tom elbows him after a moment, unable to be comfortable with semen on his chest, already too sticky for his liking. He uses a washcloth on himself, rinses it, and uses it on Carl, who couldn’t care less about hygiene after sex. It makes Tom smile though, a tiny quirk of his lips that nonetheless makes Carl smile in response.

He holds out his arms to Tom. “Bed?” he asked, kicking the sweatpants to the floor and doing some sort of wriggling twist to get the sheets adjusted without having to ever really move.

“Bed,” Tom agrees, dropping the washcloth onto the sweatpants. Suddenly he can’t be bothered to so much as return to the bathroom. He wants that pleasant feel of skin on skin, and he wants Carl’s heat while he sleeps. He climbs into Carl’s waiting arms and they intertwine, legs tangled and Carl’s arm thrown over Tom’s hip. Tom is already nuzzling the place where Carl’s throat meets shoulder, pressing a chaste kiss to the red area. Carl nudges him with his hip, his own way of saying, “it’s fine” and “thank you.”

Tom just exhales softly against Carl’s throat, patient as the other man turns off the lights and pulls up the covers.

One day at a time, Carl sends, love lazily running through every syllable. It makes Tom’s lips twitch, but he’s too tired for a proper smile, so he just leans up to kiss Carl one last time before snuggling against him, eyes slipping shut. Carl runs his hand through Tom’s hair once before returning it to the spot over his hip where his hand rested before and drifting off to sleep as well.


End file.
